Cafe Spain
by Reapergal08
Summary: ONESHOT! Sometimes Spain wondered how he ended up with the worlds most stubborn henchman... Romano gets sick working in Spains cafe and ends up in hospital. Other characters appear for drinks and laughs. T for Romano's potty mouth!


**Return to fanfiction writing part TWO! Tonne of love and thanks to everyone who favourited and commented on my Prussia fic (The Phoenix)**  
><strong>Hetalia again- this time Spain and Romano :') God, I love those two! So much! <strong>  
><strong>When I start shipping is when I know I have a problem :L<strong>

**PLEASE REVIEWWW!**

**DISCLAIMER: Not mineee! Enjoy :)**

Spain looked over the counter to survey the café before him. It was a moderately busy day, there was a festival in town and the customers were attracted in for a brief rest out of the cold. They were chatting happily at the little tables with their steaming mugs in front of them. The cool sunlight drifted through the wooden shutters to show a tiled floor and stone walls. The table cloths were vibrant reds and yellows and a Spanish flag hung on the wall above the bar. The other countries had said he had made the décor a little too obvious and that people would notice something was odd but they never had, and he'd owned the café for many years now.

He smiled to himself as he dried the mug in his hand. He liked to make people happy and it was nice to get away from the office once in a while and just have a normal life. A life not ruled by politics or economics or war. In his little, barely known café with the smell of coffee and the sounds of chatter in his ears he was at peace.

Or at least he was until the door slammed open and Romano stormed in.

His sudden and not so quiet appearance made everyone's head turn in his direction. It took Spain a moment to come to his senses and realise why he was there: of course, he had asked him to cover for his usual coffee boy today. He always needed a hand working the till and serving customers and Romano was very happy for the money and time off from work. Or at least he usually was. His expression was murderous as he stomped around the counter and pulled on his apron, glaring at anyone still looking at him. Two old women by the window left in terror and another table made a move to leave to.

"Something wrong?" Spain asked blandly, come to think of it his former lackey had sounded annoyed on the phone when he had called him to work.

"No," came the grumbled reply with an venomous stare as he was shoved to one side so Romano could get to the waiters notepad. "Just piss off Spain, I didn't feel like working today okay?"

"You didn't have to come in you know." Spain was very much aware that he was loosing customers by the second. "I can handle it here if you want to leave-"

"And have come all the way here for nothing?" The Italian's voice rose loudly in annoyance and another table left hurriedly.

The older nation sighed, there was just no reasoning with Romano, especially when he was in a foul mood. He made no more comments and merely shrugged, smiling easily. He was surprised when the other didn't flare up as usual, instead he pulled a face and went to serve the people that had just entered, all of which looked mildly terrified as they placed their orders.

"He seems a difficult one," came a voice. Spain turned to the old man who had spoken to find his eyes lit up brightly behind thick glasses. He was sat at the counter and it was easy to hear his whisper. "Always highly strung those Italian's though, eh?"

Despite himself Spain couldn't help but chuckle.

"Oh mister you have no idea." He laughed as Romano returned with the new arrivals order. His expression was still dark so he kept his mouth shut as he dealt with the order in front of him. The order was an easy one and soon sent away.

Time went on. Romano seemed to slowly become more and more irritated and snappy by the second. When he did speak to Spain it was usually loud and offensive and without eye contact. And when he wasn't working he was sulking in the back room. After a while the café had emptied to a few stray customers who were attempting to drink their scalding beverages quickly so they could escape from the scary waiter.

Just as the last customer was leaving and a sad sinking feeling hit Spain's stomach at the lack of income for the day, the bell above the door tinkled once more and familiar voices reached his ears. Romano froze in his violent scrubbing of a table and looked up as a few of their fellow countries filtered in through the door bringing the smell of the festival with them in a blast of cool air.

"_Bonjour_ Spain, Romano!" France cried waving happily. "We have decided to visit your little coffee shop for the afternoon."

"You decided, frog," England complained his thick eyebrows pulled together in a frown. He folded his arms and stared daggers at the French man " I wanted to go for tea-"

"Tea sucks dude. Coffee is totally the way to go!" America said punching him playfully on the arm. The shorter blonde looked furious but merely fumed silently as they took a seat at a table along with Germany and Japan. France and Prussia made their way to the bar as Italy went to greet his brother.

"It's so good to see you," Spain greeted his old friends warmly, automatically making everyone's orders from memory. He had owned the café long enough to know what eat of his fellow countries preferred to drink, he even had tea put to one side especially for the Britain and milkshake powder for America.

He was reaching for the mugs when he heard Romano yell something, he looked over the counter in time to see him push away Italy with a pale face.

"I told you not to touch me you idiot!" He shouted. Spain sighed as he watched him hurry past his brother and storm into the back room; he was really in a bad mood today. He wondered what had brought it on. Italy looked hurt as he took his seat next to Germany.

"I only wanted to hug him," he sniffled as Japan patted him comfortingly on the back.

Spain excused himself from France and Prussia who had started to reminisce about the old days so he could find Romano and maybe tell him to go home. He was helping no one being grouchy all day and he would not allow him to treat people badly. Spain had a patient nature but the young man was starting to wear his patience thin.

He entered the back room, it wasn't fancy, it was merely a kitchen for baking the pastries for the shop and storing coffee beans. It was empty. Confused he tried the staff room in time to see the brunette return from the bathroom. For the first time that day Spain saw how pasty the others face was; he seemed to hold his stomach before he caught sight of the older country and stood up straight, unable to stop the spasm of pain that crossed his face.

Spain froze.

"Romano," he said. "You're not well."

"Way to state the obvious, bastard." He didn't look impressed but then again he never did. "Thanks for finally noticing."

"Why didn't you tell me? You could have gone home-"

"It's not that bad." Romano interrupted. It was a lie, he frowned when he lied. Spain pursed his lips in annoyance. "I'll finish my shift and then leave."

Without another word he pushed past him and back into the café. Spain watched him go in worry. Had he just thrown up and was too proud to tell him? God, that Italian would be the death of him. He followed his retreating form back into the room and tried to focus on serving his guests but he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to Romano.

Ever since he was a child, Spain had cared for the boy, watching as he became a man. He was a useless cleaner and as much of a gluten as his younger brother but he somehow found him endearing. He still cared about him even when he threw a tantrum or a strop. He liked to think that over the years they had gotten a lot closer. It was not his fault he was grumpy; he had been an emotionally damaged child, Spain had to remind others of that when they put him down.

He knew that behind the anger and swearing there was a kind hearted individual-

"Bastard, that's what you get for knocking my fucking hand!"

...Okay, maybe very far down.

Romano had somehow managed to spill coffee all over Germany. The brown liquid soaked all of his shirt front, Italy was trying to mop up his shirt while the others at the table were wiping the remaining coffee off the table. The imposing blond scowled.

"I didn't touch you." He said evenly but his eyes were furious. Romano had always been trying to get Germany back for hoodwinking his brother, he probably thought this was another one of his schemes.

"Well, I didn't drop it on purpose!" His hands were shaking. Spain seemed the only one to notice how pale he'd gone under the mask of fury. He circled the counter to intervene before things got nasty. As in Germany beating him into the ground.

"Romano, go and fetch a towel for Germany." He said quietly laying a calming hand on his arm but he was easily pushed off as the younger nation charged into the kitchen. He looked at the tables occupants. "I'm sorry about that, I don't know what's come over him today."

"It's okay," America smiled brightly obviously enjoying the entertainment. "England offered him one of those dreadful scone thingies, he's probably pissed off about that or something."

He 'hmmed' a response as the said scone lover started to shout defensively and he slipped back to his previous position behind the bar. France looked up from his espresso with a sympathetic expression.

"That boy has always been trouble, _mon ami_," he said with a shake of his glorious head of hair. He flicked it out of his eyes as he took another sip of his drink. "Even when he was a cute little boy you had trouble with him. So highly strung-"

"If he was a Germanic country instead of one of you silly Latino's he wouldn't be like that!" Prussia declared his red eyes flashing brilliantly. "They'd have beat that out of him soonish believe me. That's how awesomeness is created."

Spain smiled warily at his old friends, ignoring the 'beating' statement but his face soon returned to it's worried state.

"He's usually so good with the customers." He sighed, jumping to his defence slightly he added: "I don't think he's very well today."

France scoffed. "If you are ill you don't come into work _non_?" He looked bemused. Prussia snorted into his coffee and muttered something about strikes under his breath.

Spain had to agree with the blond, if you were partway normal when you were sick you didn't go into work. However Romano was not normal, he was the most stubborn man Spain knew. And he was taking a long time just fetching a towel. France and Prussia had begun arguing about work ethic and the other table were still preoccupied with the spilt coffee so he was able to slide into the back room unnoticed.

Romano had his back to him at the other end of the room where they stored their linens. He seemed to be holding on the door heavily for support but he turned slightly at the sound of Spain entering the room. He stopped dead at the sight of his pale white face screwed up in pain as he clutched his side in agony.

"...Antonio, help," he muttered weakly before his fading legs gave up on him and he hit the floor. He stared in shock before his brain kicked him and he ran to him, shouting for help as he went.

He'd said his name, his true name. He only ever called him Antonio when he- well, he never called him Antonio. It must be serious.

It looked like it was. Romano's face was pale and burning to the touch when he brushed the hair from his face. He heard the sound of the others behind him and Italy's terrified gasp.

"_Fratello_!" He cried, rushing forward and sinking to the ground beside him. The auburn haired man had tears in his eyes. "What happened to him? Why is he unconscious?"

"I don't know," Spain felt his throat seize up. Why the hell was this happening? "He just fainted- I-"

Romano groaned from the floor and his eyes fluttered open. Italy immediately pounced. "Romano!" He said tearfully, his brother moaned in response. "Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you, damn it," came the weak reply. The older Italian nation groaned and curled into the foetal position shaking violently as he clutched his stomach. Japan came forward, the other countries staying at a distance, the room was only small and Spain had to grudgingly make way for the Asian by Romano's side.

"Mr Romano?" His voice was even and measured but his eyes were dark, betraying his emotions. He was worried. "Where does it hurt?"

He shook a little before managing to answer. "My stomach, the right side." He gasped and cried out a little, muttering rapid Italian under his breath. Without even thinking about it Spain ran his hand through his hair in soothing motions. He'd never seen another nation this ill, never mind Romano. Hell they got cold and stuff just like any other person but he'd never seen anyone this bad.

Japan looked solemn.

"We need to call an ambulance." He declared straightening up.

"It's not food poisoning is it?" America asked meekly from the kitchen door. "You don't think he took one of Britain's scones..."

"He's not that dumb." France pointed out as England looked furious.

"They're not that bad!" He protested turning red.

"They really are-"

Japan shook his head cutting the British nation off before he could get into full flow, reaching into his pocket for his mobile phone.

"I think he's having an appendicitis attack," the cold grip of fear snatched at Spain's stomach. "He needs to go to the hospital immediately or things will get much worse."

As if on cue Romano let out a scream around clenched teeth, tears leaking out of his eyes and to the floor. Italy burst into tears seeing his brother in so much pain and Spain wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. If it was true, and it seemed highly likely, that he was having an attack, then he could die. If his appendix burst he could get blood poisoning; it would stop his heart. And he could do nothing to help, what sort of a boss was he if he couldn't even help his little henchman?

But it couldn't happen could it? He was a nation. But then again he should never have got this ill. Spain kicked mentally kicked himself. How had he let this happen? Why had he made him work?

"It's okay Lovino," he whispered softly, almost hummed. He tried to keep his voice straight as he heard Japan calling the ambulance. "Everything will be okay, I promise."

He got no reply but a whimper, one of Romano's hands flew out and he grasped it as the other nation squeezed it hard. Spain wasn't aware something was wrong until the usual emotionless Japan yelled down the phone in his native tongue and slammed it down; the last time he had checked that was not the way to call an ambulance. Japan cursed his expression dark and scared.

"They say they can not get an ambulance to us with the festival," he muttered his eyes wide. "That we'll have to take him ourselves. They will only respond to real emergencies. I'm sorry I tried."

"But this is an emergency!" Italy wailed. "What are we going to do?"

It took a split second for Spain to decide the correct course of action. He knew the location of the nearest hospital, some ten minutes walk away. If he ran he could make it in minutes.

"I'll carry him myself." He declared, the other countries looking at him as if he'd gone mad. He stared at the others, waiting for their response.

Eventually Japan spoke up. "Are you sure you can take his weight, Mr Spain?"

"You can't seriously think this is a good idea Antonio," Prussia said shaking his head. He was one of the few people who called him by his real name. His red eyes seemed to plead with him for a second. "What if you get lost?"

No, he was adamant he knew the way and it was not far. He could do this. Romano needed him to do this.

"I won't." He promised. Keeping hold of the young nation's hand he moved to pick him up but Romano flinched at the touch. This was going to make things difficult.

"Lovino please, we need to get you off the floor," he murmured sending an imploring look to the others. Surprisingly it was Germany who came forward, his shirt still stained with coffee but a determined expression on his face. In one swift movement he had picked him up off the floor and had deposited him into Spain's awaiting arms. He tried to ignore the yell of pain and failed.

He was lucky that Romano had such an athletic build, he barely weighed anything but he was awkward to carry as he curled in his arms and shook. With one hand he held his stomach and the other latched onto Spain's shirt in an iron grip, his pale face glared up at him through a curtain of pain.

"Drop me and I'll kill you," he promised in a deadly voice. Spain couldn't help but smile at that. Italy made a move to follow him but Germany held him back.

"It'll be quicker if he goes alone," he argued holding Italy's shoulder so he couldn't move. "That way he can run and not wait for anyone."

His lip quivered dangerously but even he saw the sense in that fact.

"Don't stop." He urged, his brown eyes pleading with him to save his brother. As if he wouldn't.

"I'll be right back," Spain tried to joke as he hurried out of the back room, through the café and onto the street; he didn't even look back once. The air outside was cool but he paid it no mind as he took of at a jog through the streets. The back road he was on was empty and quiet, everyone was far too busy with the festival to look on the back roads for entertainment. He took a left taking him further onto the back streets of the town.

"Romano?" He huffed, he didn't want to go too fast and hurt him. Yet again he didn't want to go too slow either so he kept a steady quick jog. "Hey, you still with me?"

"I'm here," he said followed by a groan. He didn't even call him a bastard, that was worrying.

"Why didn't you tell me you were ill?"

There was a very long pause; Spain picked up the pace fearing the worse. He didn't look down. He almost didn't catch Romano's words mumbled into the fabric of his shirt.

"I didn't want you to worry." He said his voice quiet. "I thought it would go away if I worked but it just made it worse."

They hit the festival and the main street. The hospital wasn't far now, only a few streets away but the crowd was thick. The people bustled around happily through the stalls and rides placed in the street. Spain would have usually enjoyed the sight but it just made him annoyed, how the hell was he supposed to carry Romano through here? He didn't want to go another way and get lost; he would have to risk it.

A few people gave them funny looks and moved quickly out of the way. The initial sight of him carrying Romano, both of them wearing aprons, must have been quite bizarre but he must have had a look on his face that made them hurry to one side. Like Moses parting the red sea he hurried through the crowd easier than he expected, even some of the circus performers that we entertaining the crowd moved to one side. It was all going so well until a uniformed man stepped in his way.

"Sorry son," he apologised holding up his hand. "You can't go through this way. The street is cut off due to the festival."

Spain did not swear, that was his henchman's job but he could not stop the profanity that reached his lips from breaking out.

"What the fuck?" He tried not to yell but the stress was getting to him. He yelled it. "Why the hell have you cornered off the whole street?"

The man didn't take very well to being yelled at and took a step forward.

"Listen here you-" he stopped, finally noticing Romano curled up and whimpering in his arms, clutching his stomach. A look of confusion flashed across his face. He hesitated for a moment. "What's going on?"

"He needs to go to the damn hospital." Again with the swearing. Spain hoped this potty mouth would not be permanent. At that moment Romano cried out something unintelligible in Italian, although Spain was sure he heard 'Antonio' again. This was not good. He stared down the man who let him pass without further obtrusion.

The hospital wasn't far now. Around the last corner and he would have made it.

"Almost there Lovino," he panted, the weight and effort finally getting to him. His arms screamed for him to put him down somewhere and rest but he couldn't. He had to keep going. He got no response. "Lovino?"

His heart nearly stopped as he looked down. Romano's pale face nodded with the movement of running but apart from that it was impassive and his eyes were closed. He looked almost peaceful.

No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. He wanted to stop and shake him awake. He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't-

Spain all but smashed his way into the hospital, he hit the door at a run, yelling for help as he went. The nurse at the desk took one look at the young man slumped in his arms and pressed the emergency button. Summoned by it's call, a doctor and two nurses appeared, pried Romano from Spain's arms and placed him on a trolley before wheeling him out of sight.

He wasn't aware that he had fell to his knees on the floor until he felt the gentle tug of a nurses hand guiding him towards the waiting room seats, he sunk into it gratefully unable to stop his hands shaking. He wanted to ask if he would be okay. He wanted to know what the doctors would do to him but he couldn't form the words. The kindly nurse brought him a cup of coffee, the smell so familiar to his shop only a few hours ago that he couldn't stop the few tears that sprung to his eyes.

"Is he your brother?" She asked sitting by his side, her blue eyes sympathetic.

"No he's my-" He wasn't sure what he was. His henchman? Not any more. His brother? Not really. A doctor rounded the corner and he stood up. A better way to greet his fate.

Oh God what if something bad had happened? What if he couldn't be saved?

"Mr-?" The doctor held out his hand and Spain took it.

"Carriedo." He dismissed the worrying question quickly. "Is Lovino going to be okay?"

"Your friend came in just in time." The doctor, a tired looking man smiled. He didn't look like he smiled often. "His appendix was close to bursting but he's having the operation now to get it out. It's a simple operation and he should be fine-"

The doctor didn't manage to get anything else out of his mouth as Spain pulled him into a hug almost dancing for joy. He kissed the man heavily on both cheeks and then just for good measure the nurse too, who promptly turned bright red and giggled. Like a little school boy on his first snow day Spain did a little dance of joy.

Everything would be okay, his Romano would be fine-

Wait his?

"Where is your phone?" Spain asked once he had settled down. "I need to phone his brother."

The operation was a complete success and within a few hours they were allowed to see him, the nurse didn't want them to be loud and all in there at once but some causal flirting on France's part got them all into the room. Romano was sleeping off the drugs they'd given him to knock him out and all huddled up in his bed. Italy looked like he was restraining himself so that he wouldn't jump on him in joy, instead he had to put up with just kissing his brother lightly on the forehead.

"I like it when_ fratello_ is asleep," he smiled, overjoyed that his big brother was still alive. The familiar smile was back on his face as if the earlier events of the day had never happened and they were merely talking over coffee. "He smiles more."

It was true, Romano's natural face when he was relaxed was a faint smile. Spain had got so used to a frown he had forgotten what it looked like on his face it was an alien albeit nice change.

"We better go," England said, reading the atmosphere and then nudging America on the arm.

France nodded in agreement. "We're glad to know he's okay."

"We better go to brother," Germany said to Prussia. He glanced at Japan as they turned to leave. "Would you like a lift Japan?"

The shorter man glanced at the remaining people, saw Italy was still there and pulled a face; probably remembering when he has last got a lift off the man.

"Please," he smiled gratefully. He bowed once in their direction. "You did a very good thing today Mr Spain. I hope Mr Romano gets well again soon."

"You and me both."

And then they were gone leaving only him and Italy left in the room. It was peaceful, the only sound being Romano's steady breathing as he slept. Spain looked up to see Italy's expression surprisingly thoughtful for once, his light brown eyes clouded. Spain didn't say anything, contented to lay back in his seat and relax. It had been a long day-

Italy stood up suddenly, the curl on the side of his head bouncing with the movement. He smiled down at Spain happily.

"I just realised _fratello_ will hate the hospital food, I'll go make him some pasta," he grinned at the prospect. "I'll make some and bring it back, I shouldn't be long. Can I use your café?"

He laughed.

"Of course, knock yourself out." He fished in his pocket and brought out the door key that France had handed him back when they had turned up. He passed it over, Italy was delighted. He said a quick goodbye and skipped off, only turning to wave at the door. Spain was mildly shocked he had left his brother, although he probably knew Romano would be safe with him. After all he was his boss. He would look after him no matter what.

He realised what he was saying with a jolt. He was no longer Romano's boss. They were friends, or at least he liked to think so. With his former lackey it was hard to tell, he was so rude to everyone. Jeez it was too confusing to think about; Romano was very important to him and always would be.

The man in question suddenly stirred in sleep, then slowly started to come to. He was reminded of the time when he had gotten into a fight with Turkey over Romano, that time he hadn't looked pleased to see him (even after he had asked to be saved by him). This time though a small smile played on the Italian's lips. Although that could have been the effect of the drugs.

"_Hola mi amigo_," Spain said turning to face him, grinning inanely. He was very happy to see him awake even if he probably wouldn't remember anything he said. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been run over by a truck," Romano smiled to, his eyes unfocused. Definitely still out of it then, Spain sighed happily.

"You saved me," Romano slurred, his voice quiet. He clumsily took Spain's hand in his own and squeezed it gently, damn he hoped he wouldn't remember this when he came to again. "I knew you would, although I had my doubts, bastard. Thank you."

Oh good they were back to referring to him as the 'bastard'. He was on the mend.

"Of course Lovi," Spain grinned. He glanced to the door as the sound of doctors going past with another casualty disturbed him. To think that could have almost been his Romano; he had come so close to death that- well he didn't want to think about that. "I would have done all I could to help you and more."

He turned his gaze back to Romano only to find that he had nodded back off again, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his face. The days toils swept over Spain and he leaned back further into his chair. He was willing to put up with an uncomfortable nights sleep and he realised as he closed his eyes, his hand still locked around Romano's, that he was willing to put up with the swearing and shouting when he woke up. And he always would be.

**!**  
><strong>I think I had trouble writing for Spain : he's really hard...**

**Thank you to my lovely Beta once again for helping :)**

**PLEASE COMMENT GUYS! It only takes one click :3 THANKS! Review = Love. Love = more stories :)  
>I'm not sure whether to other with all this fanfic stuff so I need reviews to know if I'm on the right track and to help me improve :)<strong>

**Hasta la pasta~**


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